A young family moves in with a wealthy widow just before the holidays as caretakers. The father, Richard, is so engrossed in getting his fledgling business off the ground that he is unaware of his misplaced piorities. Sensing this, the widow Mary Parkin is determined to not let Richard make the same mistake that haunts her past. Can she reach him before it’s too late?

A rich, warm tale of family, faith, and the brevity of life. Beautifully written.

The Homecoming. It’s Christmas Eve in the Blue Ridge Moutains of Virginia during the Depression. Clay Spencer, patriarch of a large family, is overdue. While the Spencer clan anxiously awaits Clay’s homecoming, the older son, Clay-boy, goes in search of his father.

Can love be kindled in the seemingly dying embers of this small logging town? Can the Christmas wishes of one young boy once again ignite the fires of optimism in the inhabitants of Hope? Will one Christmas centennial celebration change an inevitable outcome?

Four multi-published, award-winning authors present a heart-warming story of people working together for a common cause and finding love. Just fun. I can almost hear the sleigh bells!

Shepherds Abiding. The eighth Mitford novel provides a glimpse of the best present of all: one’s heart.

Father Tim discovers an old nativity scene in need of repair. Even though he’s not exactly the “artsy” type like his wife, Cynthia, he decides to undertake its restoration because he knows how much she’ll love it. Through Father Tim’s journey, readers are treated to a seat at Mitford’s holiday table and a wonderful tale about the true Christmas spirit.

The Christmas Secret. A struggling young mother saves the life of a stranger and sets in motion a series of events that no one could’ve imagined as she navigates crushing defeat and disappointment on the way to hope, faith, and love. Warm, wonderful characters and a rich storyline.

Note: The timeline gets a little muddled as it skips back and forth between present and past. Also, the POV flips between first and third person and can get confusing. Still a cozy read for cold winter nights!

The Gift of the Magi. One of O. Henry’s most poignant and best-loved short stories. It’s Christmas and neither Mr. nor Mrs. Jim Dillingham can afford to buy the other a gift. Selfless sacrifices and an O. Henry ending ensue. A lovely read.

Because Easter begins with Christmas.

Honorable Mentions:

A Christmas Carol -Charles Dickens

How the Grinch Stole Christmas – Dr. Seuss

The Mistletoe Secret – Richard Paul Evans.

Twas the Night Before Christmas – Clement Moore

What are your seasonal favorites?

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‘Tis the season for merry-making and movie-watching. Grab some hot chocolate. Plop in a peppermint stick. Gather the fam or invite some friends over and get comfy. (Don’t forget the little’uns!) Here’s my 100% subjective, totally unscientific list of Best Christmas Movies (in no particular order):

Photo credit: IMBD

1. A Thousand Men and a Baby (1997): Based on the true story about the men of the U.S.S. Point Cruz who break all of the rules in order to save an Amerasian infant abandoned at an American Army supply depot in 1953. Knowing that the baby boy will not survive in Korea, the men sneak him aboard their ship, nurse him back to health and find a way to get him to America so he may be adopted in time for Christmas.

Public domain

2. White Christmas (1954): Bing Crosby, Danny Kaye, and a snowless Vermont. Okay. So it’s a little thin on a few essentials. Like a coherent plot. But who cares?

8. The Small One (1978):A young Judean boy tries to sell his beloved old donkey to someone who would care for him as much as he does.

Photo credit: IMBd.

9. The Christmas Box (1995). A poignant, heartwarming story of timeless truths about love, family, and faith. A seasonal classic starring Richard Thomas and Maureen O’Hara, based on the Richard Paul Evans book of the same name. A perennial favorite, along with:

You know I’m a happy camper, right? My middle name is “merry and bright”! So I don’t quite get all this barking about “holiday stress.” Mom says it’s a thing. So it must be a thing. Right?

Well. You also know I’m a helper. I help going out on walks and hikes. Cleaning up kitchen spills. Guarding the house. Especially from menacing deer. Lurking Fed Ex drivers. Sketchy-looking plastic bags.

Being a world class helper and all, I figure I better help with this holiday stress thing. So here are my top ten tips for reducing holiday stress. Ready? Okay. Here goes:

1 – 9: Get a dog.

10. Take her for long walks. Preferably without that stupid orange doggie coat.

What?

Oh, alright. Mom says I have to try harder to be helpful. Sigh. Here we go:

Take extra precautions to stay healthy. Getting sick can wreck anyone’s holiday faster than you can say “Ebenezer.” So drink plenty of water. Get a good night’s sleep. Wash your hands. (Something about killing germs?) Take Vitamin C to ward off the effects of Jack Frost. (Anyone nipping at my family’s noses is in deep doo-doo! Just sayin’.)

Say “No.” I hear this all the time. It’s easy. Like, if it feels wrong, too stressful, or there’s a cat involved, just trot out this handy-dandy two-letter word. Works wonders!

Make scents. No, really. Find a plug-in, candle, or potpourri pot with a favorite, soothing scent. Activate. Let it fill the whole house with a refreshing, relaxing aroma. (Mom made me say that.)

Exercise. Even if you have to chug up stairs or do jumping jacks in the basement due to weather, get moving! Get that heart rate up! Exercise reduces stress. (Or you could just walk the dog, ya know.)

Sing. I don’t quite get it, but Mom always feels better when she’s rocking out to Manheim Steimroller at nose bleed volume (see # 4, above). Or belting out Joy to the World at the top of her lungs. So it must work. You could also listen to this guy:

6. Take a hot bath. And lock the door. (Mom made me say that, too. You know how moms are.)

7. Practice an “attitude of gratitude.” Like me. I’m thankful for everything! Family! Walks! Chow! A new leash! A warm fireplace! Sunshine! Well, okay. Maybe not The Powder Puff on four legs. (Nobody’s perfect.) Altho I wouldn’t know myself, I hear it’s hard to be a Scrooge when you’re focusing on being thankful.

8. Slow. Down. For just five minutes, okay? Related: Apply the “KISS” principle. Keep things simple. If you don’t know how to do that, lemme help:

9. Get a dog. (That Scrooge dude? Bet he was a feline fun. Hah, bumhug!)

10. Hang out with me! Cuz I love everyone! O tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy…

Someone who shall remain nameless (hi, Mom) forgot to get me breakfast the other day. So I didn’t have a whole lot of sympathy when she started sniffing about a well-worn Christmas writing contest going the way of the Dodo.

“I’ve been writing and submitting entries to that site’s annual writing contest for years,” whined Her Mom-ness. “I’ve even won a couple times. So what’s up with The Final Shutdown?”

“Now you know how I feel?” I wanted to say. I wagged my tail instead. Offered to share my favorite treat with her. She wasn’t interested. Even though these goodies are “100% natural. Non-GMO.” Made “with real mixed berries.” Okay, so it was pre-chewed. But only a little.

“Mom? Mom!” I said, trying to get her back on track. You know how writers are. “Stop that whining already. I’m trying to think here!”

Now. Where was I?

Anyway, Mom kinda didn’t know what to do after being thrown for that wet cat. I’ll let her narrate in her own words (sometimes there’s just no accounting for taste.)

Her Mom-Ness:

Wanting to get a running start on the Christmas story contest season in 2017, I wrote a seasonal story in the fall of last year, as the Indian summer of September slid into the cool kindliness of October. When I sat down to submit it, I found that the site was no longer running the contest. “We hope to be back next year,” the site admin replied to my inquiry. “Please feel free to submit your story in 2018.”

I dug up my 2017 story, One Cold Night, dusted it off and polished it up for submission to the 2018 Christmas story contest. To my dismay, I discovered that not only was the contest not going on this year, but the entire web site had been scrubbed. Closed. History. Gone.

“That was a lot of work for nothing,” I thought.

Me

So Her Mom-ness decided to do something else. “Just because that site no longer exists doesn’t mean I or my story have to follow suit.”

So she spiffed up her story. Ignored the contest-imposed 800 word limit. Added about 600 words. “Now it’s a micro story,” she chirped. “I’ll just publish it myself.”

As in, if a door closes, find another way in. Or open a window.

This right after I gently reminded her about breakfast. With the subtlety of a ton of dog chow. Priorities, ya know?

Mmm… Mom’s Christmas micro tale… crunch… arf… is called… mmmm… good… One Cold Night. And you can get it for FREE right here. It’s almost as good as breakfast! Crunch…. munch… yum…

I was just a young pup last Thanksgiving. Chewing on slippers. Dish towels. Wayward fingers. Learning Come. Down. Jump. Sit and Stay. Also how to jitterbug. That just kinda happened. I mean, who can listen to In the Moodsitting still?

Anyway. I’m coming up on two and a half years now. So I’m leaving all that baby stuff behind. Well, some of it. But I’ve gotten pretty good at chasing fallen leaves. Wearing that stupid “doggie jacket” Mom insists on when the temperature drops below forty degrees. Swiping turkey leftovers when no one’s lookin’.

Even though it’s cold and crisp outside, it’s not all bad. A neighbor’s cat, Sir Puddleglum, is staying indoors most of the time. (That’s not the orange tabby’s real name. I just call him that because it gets his goat. Or his cat nip. Whatever.)

Anyway again. Apple cider. Crunching leaves. Snoozing by the fireplace. Mom says fall is a great time to re-read some favorite authors. She showed me her list. I’m passing it on to you at no extra charge. (Don’t tell anyone.)

Hamner is best known as the creator, executive producer, and warm narrative voice of The Waltons. He wrote several books, including the autobiographical Spencer’s Mountain and The Homecoming. The latter inspired the movie of the same name. It became the pilot that launched The Waltons. You can almost hear the snow fall… G’night John Boy…

Never heard of her? Me neither. Until Mom swooped into the library and yanked Samphire Song off a shelf. The librarian said it was on the “weeding” (death) list. She felt sorry for it. Read it. Loved it. Said it’s brisk. Engaging. Beautifully written, with memorable characters. The story revolves around a young girl, Jodie, and her half-wild stallion, Samphire. Both are damaged. They inch their ways toward healing together.

Mom says this guy is a prolific, award-winning author perhaps best known for The Christmas Box. Richard publishes a book every year, usually when temperatures start dropping. Says Mom: Richard’s gentle, uplifting stories are a great choice for curl-up-near-the-fireplace reading!

Looking for larger-than-life outdoor adventure told with a keen eye for detail and a gritty, spunky writing style? Gary Paulsen’s your guy, according to Mom. His many books include The Hatchet series, Dogsong, Harris and Me, Woodsong, and Winterdance.

No one came out and said it in so many words. But it was everywhere implied. The arched eyebrows. Dubious glances thinly camouflaged by polite nods. Watery half-smiles that didn’t quite reach the eyes.

It added up to: Good luck with that one, sis. As in, Nice pipe dream. Better chose a more reasonable, reachable goal. Aim lower. Because that’s impossible.

These were the wordless but emphatic rumblings I got when I occasionally mentioned my 2018 Goodreads Reading Challenge goal to select friends, Romans, and fellow countrymen: 250 books in one year, January 1 to December 31.

My internal response to the doubters?Watch me.

The author at age 1 year.

As you may know, I’ve been a voracious reader since early childhood. For me, a little slice of heaven includes settling in to a comfy chair in front of the fireplace with a big mug of hot whatever and a good book. Or even a mediocre one.

I incorporate reading into my daily schedule, setting aside at least an hour a day to read. I rarely turn on the TV. When I can swing it, I also set aside Sundays for reading.

Besides. I’ve never been a big fan of “aim lower.” So when people sort of rolled their eyes at my “250 books in one year” reading goal, I quietly revised my goal upwards. To 365 books in one year.

Well, guess what? I just cleared that benchmark, finishing my 365th book since January 1, 2018. (My 365th book was Mark Twain’s The Prince and the Pauper.)

When you think of the word “courage,” multiply that by a factor of about one hundred. You’re still not close to this riveting read about one warrior’s journey to hell and back.

Redman was severely wounded in Iraq in 2007 – hit by machine gun fire at point-blank range. He endured thirty-seven surgeries over four years before retiring in 2013. He is the founder of Wounded Wear, which later evolved into the Combat Wounded Coalition, a non-profit organization which supports combat wounded warriors and families of the fallen. The Trident is his poignant, brutally honest memoir about the meaning of leadership, true grit, and triumph against all odds.

In the Epilogue, Redman writes:

“Tomorrow always will come. It may not be the tomorrow you wanted or hoped for, but it will come. It is up to you to be ready for it, to shape it and make it what it will be. You can’t change the past but you control your future as long as you’re willing to…”

OVERCOME

There is nothing in life that cannot be overcome if you’re genuinely willing to try and never quit.

LIVE GREATLY

Lift up those around you, always give back, climb a mountain, jump from a perfectly good airplane, and never pass up life’s opportunities.

LOVE DEEPLY

In the end the only thing you will have left are the relationships you forged and sustained in life.

STAY HUMBLE

Pride has destroyed more men than all wars combined.

LEAD ALWAYS

True leaders lead at all times regardless of the situation they are in and who’s watching.

Like finishing 365 books in one year when most everyone thought it was the stuff of pipe dreams. (It required focus, discipline, and prioritizing. I also read fast. That helps.) But the biggest factor in completing this year’s reading challenge? It came down to having the “want to.”

Additionally, the jet fuel that propelled me across the 2018 Reading Challenge finish line I set for myself back in January? It was the dubious looks and raised eyebrows from those who implied or otherwise indicated I couldn’t do it.

365 books in less than one year! And I’m not done yet!

So. Someone telling you your dream, goal, plans or (fill in the blank) are “impossible”? No way. No one can do that. Better chose a more reasonable, reachable goal. Aim lower. The next time you hear “that’s impossible” or someone rolls their eyes at a goal you’ve set for yourself, just smile sweetly and dig in.

You might also want to read Redman’s memoir. Just sayin’.

Meanwhile, know what? I’m not done yet. The clock is still running on 2018. So why stop at 365 books? Here I go… !

I’m an expert on thanksgiving. Just ask Mom. I’m thankful for just about everything and everyone. That dropped bit of bacon. Unattended hot dogs. Belly rubs! Sea gulls! Snoozes in the sun. Walks in the woods! My favorite blanket, right next to the heating vent.

The guy who walks by my yard every day. Mark has yellow hair and dark glasses. His voice is light and friendly. “I’ve never had much use for dogs,” he once said, reaching over the fence to pet me. “I was a confirmed a cat lover. Until I met Kimber.” He’s my best friend!

The lady across the street who delivers the newspapers. “Hello Kimber!” she says when she walks by. She has short dark hair. She smells like sunshine and good cheer. June also knows just where to scratch me behind my ears. She’s my best friend!

The lady in a wheelchair who smells like generosity and good memories. I always say “hello” when she rolls by. I smile. She smiles back. Mary’s my best friend!

I keep a sharp eye out for my next door neighbor. Sometimes I see Virginia out for a walk when Mom and I are out for our walk! I remind her how happy I am to see her! She smiles. It’s a sparkly kind of smile. I like that. She’s my best friend!

A big black dog lives across the street. She’s older. Doesn’t move so fast anymore. I say hello to her across the street. Lexy doesn’t usually answer. She’s not as talkative as me. But when we cross the street, we exchange greetings and neighborhood news. She’s my best friend! Sometimes Lexy’s grandpa comes to visit. He always saves me at treat. He’s my best… oh, never mind.

I’m also thankful for a job. Mine is patrolling the property and keeping everyone safe. I smell everyone who comes by, making sure they smell friendly. Every once in a while someone doesn’t smell right. I alert my family immediately! I’m the scout. The look out. Just ask the neighborhood cats and the deer who wander out of the woods.

On the job!

In fact, I often lie awake at night, making sure nothing happens to anyone in my house. It’s a big responsibility. But I’m up for it. After I make sure no one has died in their sleep, the next morning I take a snooze in that nice sunny patch in the yard.

Sometimes I talk to people when Mom and I are out on walks. My favorite people are the ones who are small and can’t really talk yet. They understand me just fine. And I understand them. We both know words like Mom and Dad and brothers. Sit. Snack. Lunch time. Car ride!

I used to tell these little people about myself. They knew what I was saying. They would tell me things back. Like, “Macaroni and cheese again?” Or “I am not ready for my nap! Am not! Am not! Am not!”

But I’ve noticed something. These little ones don’t stay little. They grow. Get bigger. Taller. Like my brothers. The more they grow, the less they understand what I’m saying. And the less I understand them. Especially when they start saying things like, “Internal Revenue Service.” “Presidential debate.” Or, “what’s the Wi Fi code?”

Meanwhile, Mom says, “Thanksgiving Day is almost here!” I’m not quite sure what that means. But if Mom’s merrily skipping about the house, cooking up a storm, it must be something good. So I’m up for it.

Thanksgiving 2017

On Thanksgiving Day, I’ll do what I do every day. Be thankful. Glad. Content. On. The. Job. I’ll make sure everyone who comes to my house smells right. Then all my best friends, new and old, will sit around the table and pass wonderful-smelling food around. I may have to sit on the porch. It’s so hard to stay calm with all the excitement and delicious smells!

But I have a plan. I’ll help clear the plates. You know, lick them clean. No one will notice. They’ll be too busy talking and laughing. Waiting for dessert. If I play my biscuits right, someone might save me a bit of their dinner. Or drop something under the table. Oh, happy day!

After dinner, I’ll snuggle into the recliner with Mom. We always watch George Bailey, Sam Wainwright, Mr. Martini, Bert the Cop, Ernie the cab driver, Old Man Gower and Clarence Oddbody, A.S. II every Thanksgiving night.

Family. Faith. Redemption. Best friends. Good food. A nice, warm bed. Long walks. Sunshine. A yard I don’t have to share with a cat. Told you I’m a thankfulness expert.

Mom calls November the “in-between” month. Not quite winter. Not really full fall. Lots of trees have dumped their leaves. Temperatures are dropping. But not low enough for snow. Here on the Olympic Peninsula, the rains return. And return. And return.

When the weather turns wet, Mom insists on dragging out The Dreaded Orange Raincoat. Why does she do this? Is she averse to getting soaked to the collar, crashing through every puddle in sight, or galumphing around town up to her nose in rain water?

Me, I’m fine with all of the above. (I am part Lab, you know. As in water dog.)

Anyway, did I mention they closed the book place awhile back? For “renovations.” About a million dollars worth. I don’t know what that means. Can you eat it?

But it means we haven’t been able to walk over to the library lately. One of us really hates that.

Good news: The book place is supposed to re-open in about a week or so.

So you might call November the “in between month” for reasons not related to weather. Or seasons. It’s in between closures and re-openings of a favorite place in town.

Like this:

First things first. I haven’t moved houses or switched dog food brands. My humans are all fine. The neighborhood powder puff – that yappy little furball on four legs – is still around. So annoying. We’ve just been running around all over the place. Seems like we just wrapped up summer and now we’re halfway through fall!

Squirrel!

Wait. Where was I? Oh yeah. Halfway through fall.

Speaking of “halves,” Mom and Dad have been thinking about midlife reading lately. Cuz two of us (who shall remain nameless) are right there. You know, that time in life where relationships change. So does work. Or so I’m told. Then there’s The Kid. At age 19, the dude actually thinks he’s an adult.

We need to talk, bro!

Well. Somebody recently posted a list of 10 Great Books to Read at Midlife.Yabba-dabba-gag-me. The powder puff could’ve come up with better choices.

Not to be outdone by ‘ole pp, Mom and I put together our own list of Top 10 Favorite Reads for Midlife. Then we got to thinking, what’s up with that? Why limit the list to “midlife”? A good read is a good read, right?

So rather than list titles, Mom and I decided to settle on some favorite authors. Because once sweater weather arrives and I get to roll around in mounds of nice, crackly leaves and jump in mud puddles, it’s also a great time to curl up with a hot mug of whatever and a good book. “Besides,” chirps Mom, “Midlife isn’t really the ‘fall’ of life. Seems more like spring to me!”

So if you’re looking to spring into some peppy, vivacious fall reads by some top-notch authors who deliver heaping helpings of inspiration, hope, and grace and have some fun while you’re doing that midlife thing – or whatever – here ya go (in no particular order):

We’re big Mitford fans. Jan does uplifting, inspirational reads about three-dimensional characters as eccentric as they are lovable and authentic. Besides. Who can resist a main character with a dog as big as a Buick?

Mom says she doesn’t agree with this author on anything politically. But that Anna’s a great “get real” writer with lots of insight. I don’t know what that means. But it sounds good. Does it come with milk bones?